Ghostwriting by Traci Harding Page A

water.
    â€˜Are you nuts?’ Billie stressed.
    â€˜It’s salty,’ Shannon informed, ‘like tears.’ She looked at Billie, unable to explain the anomaly.
    Billie’s eyes dropped to the nominated patch of earth. ‘Let’s get her out of there then.’
    They’d only dug down a couple of feet when a pale piece of bone became apparent amid the rich, dark soil.
    â€˜Oh, Billie.’ Shannon got the willies and jumped out of the hole. ‘What is it?’
    â€˜Oh, great, leave me to check,’ Billie grumbled, having suspected that she’d get landed with the gruesome work. She grabbed a small spade and brush, and began digging around the object. It soon became fairly clear what it was. ‘It’s a skull.’ Billie sat back on her haunches once she was sure, and looked at Shannon, who was deathly white and looking as if she was going to be sick.
    â€˜Ireland here we come,’ Shannon said flatly, praying to God that Billie would agree to go with her.
    â€˜Looks that way.’ Billie caught Shannon’s eye and smiled. ‘Fuck it. Let’s go make some travel plans over a cup of real tea.’
    Shannon nodded, and felt her dread of executing this task alone lift from her thoughts.
    As they headed up the steep slope, Shannon became aware of the ghostly figure of a woman,attired in a long old-fashioned dress, making her way up the slope ahead of them. ‘Katlin?’ Shannon called out to her, startling Billie, who saw nothing bar the afternoon sun through the trees.
    The woman turned back to Shannon and smiled before continuing on her trek toward the house.
    Despite her efforts, Shannon didn’t manage to catch up to the spectre, who remained about ten metres ahead all the way back to the house. Once inside the small mansion, Shannon searched, but Katlin was nowhere to be found.
    In the kitchen, Billie was making tea. ‘What the hell was that all about?’
    â€˜It was nothing.’ Shannon sidestepped explaining further and sat down at the table to look through the house album again. She knew she’d come across an old black and white photo of Katlin in there the other day, but she hadn’t had a reason to take any real notice of the picture at the time.
    On second viewing, Shannon saw a woman the same age as herself, fear clearly reflected in her expression. Katlin had long dark hair that fell to her waist, where it curled into ringlets. Her pretty, soulful eyes told a sad story, as they were filled with despair and anger. Katlin’s lush lips where pulled taut — to contain her rebellious protests, Shannon imagined.
    Shannon wished she could have sat down with Katlin all that time ago; she would have talked herinto leaving Heartley and defying her family. How sad that a true love had been lost forever, and how strange that after all this time, two women, much the same age as Katlin, had come along to aid her. Shannon had to wonder: if they’d all lived at the same time in history, would they have become friends? How nice to know that one could make good friends over a century after one’s death.
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    After a trip to the local travel agent to pick up brochures and maps, the evening was spent trying to locate the place in County Kerry where Katlin had once lived. To find the exact burial place of Katlin’s beloved Timothy O’Mally was going to take a bit of research, which they would do once they arrived in Ireland.
    Today, their flight of fancy was still a bit unreal. However, neither woman had yet suggested that maybe they should forget the idea and go home.
    Billie had undergone a huge shift in attitude. The situation had gone from being Shannon’s delusion to a very real scenario in which a heinous crime had been committed and gone unpunished.
    Shannon ventured to ask Billie about her sudden conversion to the cause and for the first time since she’d met her, Shannon saw a look of regret on the